Last year I attended the wedding of one of my dearest friends. She’s one of the first friends I made when I moved to California, and 23 years later, even though I don’t see her as often as I’d like, she remains an important person in my life.

After the ceremony, I chatted with a group of guests, sharing stories about the bride and groom. One guest recalled how my friend had once gone through a series of couches, ordering first one couch and trying it out in her home, only to send it back and order another. She did this until she finally found the perfect couch.

A guest of the groom, who was only just getting to know my friend, was shocked that she would be so particular. But to me, it made perfect sense.

My friend isn’t a difficult person, but as an artist and architect, she has an inner sense for when something belongs. Her apartments have always been sparsely furnished, but they were places I always felt at home.

“But once she found the perfect couch,” I told the guests, picturing my friend sizing up the last couch and knowing this was the one. “She would have kept it forever.” The first guest nodded in agreement.

I met my friend’s new husband for the first time at the wedding, and I knew right away that he was the perfect couch. My friend has tried out other “couches” over the years—the cerebral couch, the fun couch, the handsome, the creative, and the successful. Each was a perfectly good couch that fit her in some way, but I always had the sense they were “not quite right”. They matched, but they didn’t belong.

“You know how you just know?” she had told me, when she announced she was getting married.

I do know, and when I saw my friend walk down the aisle (at least what I could see of her through my tears) and take the hands of her beaming husband-to-be, I knew without a doubt that she and this kind, funny, handsome man belonged together. After years of shopping and returning, she had found her perfect couch.

I was 15 when my dad died suddenly and unexpectedly. None of us is ever prepared for this kind of loss, and I was no exception, but I was surprised by some of the strange experiences that came along with grief. Only much later did I understand that almost anything extraordinary is “normal” when it comes to grief. Here are a few weird things that happened to me:

Every time the phone rings, you’re sure it will be them

It takes the brain a long time to process the idea that someone who has been there since the moment of your birth is suddenly gone. Every time the phone rang or there was an unexpected knock at the door, my first thought was always, “Oh, it’s my dad.” My adrenaline would start flowing and it would take several seconds for my grief-addled brain to catch up and realize that it couldn’t possibly be him.

The experience was worsened when, on the day of my dad’s funeral, I answered the door to find him standing there. It took me a lot longer than a few seconds to realize that the man on the doorstep was my dad’s younger brother, who’d I never met in person and who happened to bear an uncanny resemblance.

It’s a wonder the shock didn’t kill me.

Flippant expressions sting like hell

And speaking of flippant expressions like “It’s a wonder the shock didn’t kill me”, only when someone you love dies do you realize how often people use death-related expressions in daily life. “Don’t have a stroke”, “The good die young”, and “It’s like a cancer” all take on a different meaning when they happen to your loved one. “I almost had a heart attack” was an expression used often by many of my friends, but it stung like hell to hear it after my dad actually did have one.

Random items that belonged to your loved one suddenly take on new meaning

It’s been over 30 years since my dad’s death and I still have the travel alarm clock he woke up to every morning. It doesn’t work and I don’t even keep it on display, but I will never part with it. Same goes for the monogrammed handkerchiefs into which he always blew his nose. My dad won trophies for running and was an avid gardener, but it’s the clock and the hankies that suddenly became significant.

In my collection of worthless, but priceless, treasures, I have costume jewelry brooches from each of my grandmothers and a miniature ceramic teapot that belonged to my auntie. These items have become hugely significant to me.

Even if you don’t believe in the paranormal, you’ll get messages from the other side

You think about your loved one all the time in the weeks after their death. You’ll probably talk to them a lot, too. Then one day, as you’re walking down the street, you’ll recall a fond memory and in that instant, the sun will peek out from behind a cloud and shine on you. And you’ll know, I mean absolutely know without a doubt, that it’s a sign that your departed is thinking about you.

About six months after my dad passed away, my mother and I adopted our first cat. The cat had been abandoned, taken in by a relative of my friend, but hadn’t settled with the cats she already had. My friend couldn’t take the kitten, and so by a series of random events, Smudge came into our lives. One day, Smudge looked at me in a way that made me speculate if he could be the reincarnation of my dad. Crazy, right? Perhaps, but the possibility gave me a lot of comfort.

One day you wake up and can’t remember what they looked like

The dead never age. My mother is almost 85 now. She has white hair and her body has lost its strength. But my dad will always be young and vibrant, his body lean and strong from running, and his face slender and tanned.

For a long time, I couldn’t shake off the images of the last time I saw him on the night he died. But over time, I replaced those with fonder memories of him at the beach or walking in the hills. I’m no longer sure if I remember him this way in real life or just from the photographs I have. But I do know that there were days when I woke up and could not remember what he looked like. Those were terrible moments, filled with panic. But they passed because you never really do forget.

You never fully get over losing someone

Losing someone you love changes you forever. You immediately feel like you don’t fit in, that you are the sole member of a club that even your closest friends aren’t eligible to join. Eventually, you learn to live without your loved one, you get on with your life, and you even love other people. You don’t drag around your grief forever.

But you never really get over losing that person. You always have a little hole in your soul that no one else can ever fill. But somehow you learn to live around it.

You do know it’s Mother’s Day on Sunday, don’t you? And you did promise yourself you wouldn’t leave it until the last minute to get a gift this year, didn’t you? Okay. Good. Then, ditch the grocery store flowers and chocolates and check out these very cool book-related gifts for Mumsy.

Book-ish Bling

I love these book pendants. Snoop around Etsy.com for crafters who will make a pendant in Mom’s style using the cover of her favorite book. You can also find simple or ornate gold and silver book pendants if that’s more her taste.

That New Book Smell

For reasons I’ll never understand, the whole “Scratch and Sniff” phenomenon never quite took off. Still, you can send Mom on a sensory trip into her favorite classic with these Literary Candles. Maybe she’d enjoy the scent of the gardens at Pemberley, or perhaps she’d prefer tea and books at 221B Baker Street. If your mom’s into zombie novels or medical thrillers, you might want to rethink this one.

Book Surprise

Book crates have taken the subscription world by storm. Here’s one that is perfect for a long-lasting gift. Once Upon a Book Club delivers a box with a new release and three hand-wrapped story-related gifts to be opened at specific pages in the book.

Things are suddenly getting very real around here. After months (okay, years) of writing and revising A Strange Companion, it’s suddenly a real book.

I know it’s a real book because:

It’s available for pre-order on the major bookseller sites.

A printed proof arrived and I have held it in my hand.

I’m throwing a Publication Party, and I couldn’t do that without a real, published book.

It’s all been a bit of a whirlwind these past few weeks and I’ve been living or dying by the task list. I’ve eaten meals but, more than once, I’ve looked at my empty plate with no recollection of cutting, chewing, or swallowing food. My husband has asked me questions and I’ve found myself staring at him as if he’s speaking an alien language, while my brain spins to catch up. If someone asked me my plans for the weekend, I’d say, “Oh, nothing special,” but I’d be thinking, Duh. I’m working on my book!

I think it’s supposed to be this way. A book launch is supposed to be a crazy time of preparation, of dotting i’s and crossing t’s, of smoothing the way for the shiny new book to burst out into the world.

As insane as it’s been, it’s also been a lot of fun. I’ve had some incredible moments, such as:

The moment I finished inputting the proofreader’s final edits and realized I’d never have to read this book again. (I still love it; I just don’t want to read it again for a very long time. Plus, I know what happens at the end!)

The day I arrived home to find the printer’s first proof copy sitting on my doorstep.

When I read the first review and realized that someone other than me and the people who care about me loved my book.

So, in all the swirling madness, it’s these moments that I’m trying to remember and savor.

Now for some details:

If you’d like to pre-order the book, grab it by April 3rd for a special bonus gift. All that information is here.

And, if you happen to be in the L.A. area, I would love for you to join me at my Publication Party. It’s at {pages} a bookstore in Manhattan Beach. 7 pm, Friday, April 7th. There’ll be drinks and hors d’oeuvres. And of course, there’ll be the closest thing I can find to Owen’s legendary chocolate cake. (And if you’ve no idea what I’m talking about, you’d better take a look at the sneak peek of the book here.)